


As Much As You'll Let Me

by asphodelknox



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: M/M, but this generally happens during and after the last season, pure fluff, sweet as candy, the timeline is fairly loose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 16:48:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20429216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asphodelknox/pseuds/asphodelknox
Summary: Tom hadn’t expected to spend his daughter’s birthday having a picnic in the grove with her and Thomas Barrow but there he was, listening to Thomas read out loud from one of Sybbie’s favorite books and munching on Mrs. Pattmore’s hand pies.He just couldn’t say no to his daughter.





	As Much As You'll Let Me

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something I had in my head for the past few years. Enjoy!

Tom hadn’t expected to spend his daughter’s birthday having a picnic in the grove with her and Thomas Barrow but there he was, listening to Thomas read out loud from one of Sybbie’s favorite books and munching on Mrs. Pattmore’s hand pies.

He just couldn’t say no to his daughter. 

It had been a slightly rainy gray day, and Sybbie had been allowed to leave her lessons early to visit Tom at work. “So Sybbie,” Tom had said, hoisting Sybbie up in his arms, “what do you want to do for your birthday?” 

Sybbie had frowned her blue eyes at her father, thinking hard. Her face reminded Tom’s of her mother, and he marveled once again at how quickly his little girl was growing up. “I want a picnic. With you and Thomas.” 

Tom had done a double-take, uncertainty rolling in his gut. “Me and Thomas Barrow? Thomas, our Underbutler? You’re sure?” 

Sybbie nodded. “Thomas tells me stories about mum like you do.” 

“Ah,” Tom said. Of course.

Thomas and Tom had both told Sybbie stories of her mother. Tom had never realized how fond of Sybil Thomas was but the way he spoke of her during the war made him second guess Thomas’s supposed coldness. Sybil had never stopped trying to convince Tom of Thomas’s worth either, although he had found it hard to believe until he heard more of Thomas’s stories from the war.

Now, the sun was filtering through the trees on the green, and Thomas, Tom, and Sybbie lounged on a picnic blanket, Downton itself in view, but far enough away that Tom let his guard down. Thomas finished the chapter and glanced up at Sybbie. She was sound asleep, her head resting on Tom’s lap. Thomas chuckled wryly. 

“I suppose my reading bored her,” he said wryly, taking a swig from the bottle of water. It was casual, and Tom hadn’t seen many instances where Thomas was at ease. It almost made him feel like they could be friends if they’d met under different circumstances.

“I think George runs her around a lot,” Tom said with a chuckle. 

“He’s a ball of excitement,” Thomas replied with a knowing grin. Tom couldn’t blame him. He wasn’t the one who had carried George around on his back, pretending to be a horse for weeks on end. And Thomas had seemed to enjoy it immensely. 

There was a companionable silence for a moment before Tom spoke again. “I heard you were looking to move on from Downton,” he said, trying to be polite. “I hope it’s nothing to do with my return.” 

Thomas shook his head, flicking an imaginary piece of lint off his pants. “Just time to move on I suppose. The world is changing and all that.” 

“Indeed it is. Better to meet it while we can, I suppose.” 

Thomas hummed. “Shall we return to the house, Mr. Branson?” Tom paused a moment, wondering if it would be possible to carry this quiet, almost serene moment between him and Thomas on a little further… Tom wasn’t oblivious to what Thomas had attempted to do just months prior. He couldn’t imagine Thomas trying to take his own life, but then again… he hadn’t been able to imagine Thomas playing horse for George either. Regardless, Thomas seemed almost at ease now, his shoulders relaxed and his breath calm, and Tom thought that perhaps Sybil would have wanted to give Thomas more of these moments.

Tom let his gaze flicker over Thomas. He was pale still, and thin, but no doubt Mrs. Pattmore was doing her best to thicken him up. Tom had known a few men to take their own lives… they’d all been far worse off than Thomas ever seemed though. 

After a moment, Tom nodded in response and Thomas gathered up the picnic while Tom lifted Sybbie into his arms. They walked back slowly, Sybbie muttering occasionally in her sleep. They reached the back door and Thomas paused a moment. 

“I might as well say this while we have the moment,” he said, his voice quiet so as not to wake Sybbie in Tom’s arms. “I want to apologize for the ways I undermined you and disrespected you in the past.” He spoke quickly and avoided eye contact except for one moment where he and Tom locked eyes. “I was jealous and a bit immature, and the way I acted was unkind.” 

Tom searched Thomas’s eyes for a joke, but all he found was sincerity. He smiled encouragingly. “It’s in the past. All’s forgiven.” Perhaps Sybil had been right… it made Tom curious. What had his wife seen in this brooding and grumpy jack-of-all-trades?

Thomas breathed out a sigh of relief and opened the door for Tom to walk through ahead of him. Thomas disappeared in the hustle of the house and Tom carried Sybbie up the stairs to the nursery, pondering how Sybil would have stood by Thomas, even after the harm he’d done to himself. 

______

A few weeks after Christmas, Tom found himself walking with Sybbie and Thomas once again. The walks had become a common occurrence once Sybbie had caught on to Tom and Thomas’s endless stories about Sybil, especially now that Thomas had returned to Downton just after New Year’s. Mary said Sybbie was going through a phase where all she wanted was to hear about her mother and while Mary and Edith could tell some stories, Sybbie wanted to hear the ones of her mother at the hospital and going to rallies, the ones where she’d been helping people. The stories that only her father and Thomas could tell. 

“And she walked into the drawing-room wearing pants!” Thomas said, finishing a story that had Sybbie giggling so much she had to stop walking. 

Tom chuckled. “I remember when I drove her to get those. That was the first time I saw her eyes twinkle.” 

He thought he saw _Thomas’s_ eyes twinkle, just for a moment and it caught him so off guard he almost missed his daughter’s question.

“Is that when you knew, papa?” Sybbie asked again, tugging at his jacket. 

“Knew what, darling?” Tom smiled down at his daughter, banishing any thoughts of Thomas’s twinkling eyes from his mind. 

“Knew you were in love with her?” 

Tom squeezed his daughter’s hand and nodded. “Yes, I daresay that’s when it was. But most everyone who knew her fell in love with her.” 

“Most of the soldiers in the war wanted to marry her too,” Thomas said with a grin. “You were just the lucky one, Mr. Branson.” In the past, Thomas might have said Tom’s name with derision or sarcasm. This time, however, Tom wondered if he detected just a trace of fondness. _Wouldn’t that be the day_, he thought to himself. _Thomas Barrow, fond of me?_

Tom was seeing him grin more now. Thomas had seemed more relaxed, now that he was back at Downton as Butler. He worked with a gentle and steady hand and the younger employees looked up to him. Every time Tom went downstairs for any reason, the staff seemed to praise Thomas for any number of things. Tom found himself glad that Thomas was finally in the right place. 

Sybbie rolled off the blanket, thoughtfully staring into the grass, blowing on blades and watching them dance in her wind. Tom turned to Thomas, feeling a bit like he was channeling his wife in his curiosity. 

“Are you enjoyed being Butler?” Tom asked. Thomas looked up in surprise, taken aback, but nodded after a moment.

“I am,” he said quietly, smiling to himself. “It’s good to do work I enjoy for a family very dear to me.”

Tom paused. “They are a dear family, even with their foibles.” He’d left Boston for them after all. He’d found home was where his heart was and his heart was at the big, beautiful house where he’d fallen in love and come into his own.

Thomas chuckled. “I’ve seen many things in my time at Downton, but they must be the most unflappable family.” 

Tom couldn’t help but chuckle, letting out a snort that had both Sybbie and Thomas looking at him curiously. Tom waved them off, a grin on his face. 

It was safe ground, this conversation. But Tom almost didn’t mind. Perhaps they’d expand to other topics in the future. 

____________

Tom strode into the smaller library mid-morning without announcement and almost gave Thomas a heart attack. 

Tom’s Irish spirit had gotten the better of him and he let out a cry of surprise when his shoulder hit the ladder, looking up only to find Thomas up on a ladder dusting some old books. 

Thomas, to his credit, maintained his balance, even as Tom’s shoulder made the ladder wobble with frightening movement. 

“Sorry, Mr. Barrow,” Tom said, reaching out to steady the ladder. “Sorry, are you alright?” He looked up to see Thomas gripping the ladder so tightly his hands were turning white. Thomas took a deep breath and slowly made his way off the ladder.

“Now that I’m back on solid ground, Mr. Branson,” Thomas said, “I’m much better.” They exchanged a look and a shaky chuckle.

“I didn’t realize you dusted,” Tom said, in an attempt to make conversation. 

Thomas sighed. “I don’t, usually, but with the Lord and Lady out of the House and Lady Mary and Mr. Talbot gone for the day, I let the maids have a day off.” He grimaced to himself. “Only to realize no one had dusted in here in a week.”

“What an oversight,” Tom teased, “however will you manage?” He grinned. It wasn’t often that he had Downton to himself but he found he rather enjoyed it when he did. The differences between him and the staff didn’t seem so apparent when he wasn’t surrounded by Lady Cora and Lady Mary in their finery.

Thomas actually grinned at him. Tom wondered if maybe Sybil was cheering from her life after death.

“I had just finished as you entered, actually,” Thomas said looking around. Tom followed his gaze. The room did look cleaner. Tom was probably the one who used the library most, anyways. He appreciated not sneezing to death as he searched for something to read and he told Thomas as much. 

“May I ask what you were reading?” Thomas asked. He sounded almost unsure, as if the question was an uncommon one on his tongue. Maybe it was uncommon for him to ask that sort of question at all, when he was asking in a way that wasn’t searching for information he could use.

Tom held up a volume. “A book of poetry. I was just returning it actually. I hadn’t sorted what to read next.” 

Thomas hummed. ‘Best of luck then.” He turned on his heel to go, but Tom spoke first. 

“You seem like a well-read man, Mr. Barrow,” Tom said. “Perhaps you have a recommendation?”

Thomas paused, looking like he was almost having an internal conversation. Tom couldn’t say who won, but he grinned when Thomas answered. 

“I’m partial to The Tempest, by Shakespeare, if I’m honest,” Thomas replied. His hands hung relaxed at his sides and Tom had the oddest vision in his head of Thomas’s fingers turning pages. Thomas’s hands were always careful, intentional. “It was the one thing I could wrap my head around in school.”

“I haven’t read much of his work,” Tom said. “Would the Tempest be in here or the main library?” 

Thomas seemed to snap to attention. “I’ll show you, if you’ll follow me, Mr. Branson.” He opened the door and held it open for Tom to walk through, who waited while Thomas closed the door. 

Tom watched Thomas’s gait as they made their way to the main library. He seemed more sure of himself, now that he’d taken on the role of Butler. Almost as if he’d bloomed when finally given the chance to grow. Tom couldn’t help but feel similarly. He’d never imagined he’d be the agent of such a large estate but… he did well for himself and was proud of his work. 

Thomas opened the library door and ushered Tom in, leading him to the far corner to pull a thin volume off the shelves. He hesitantly held it out to Tom. Tom grinned and took it, immediately opening it to the first page, then snapping it closed. 

“You mentioned you gave the maids the day off?” Tom asked. 

Thomas nodded. “Yes sir.” 

“Did you give anyone else the day off?” Tom shook his head at himself. “I mean to ask, do you have anything pressing you must attend to at the moment?” 

Thomas looked at him warily. Tom hurried to explain.

“Only, Sybbie was asking after you and your stories again and I thought if you had a moment, you and I could take a walk with her.” 

Tom didn’t understand why he felt nervous. Technically, Thomas was the Butler and had to do Tom’s bidding, at least at the ranking of the house inhabitants at present. Tom hated the system entirely and found himself wishing it wasn’t a factor in asking Thomas on a walk. 

Tom watched Thomas consider his proposal, suddenly feeling he’d be put out if Thomas said no. It was an unfamiliar feeling.

“I don’t have anything pressing, no,” Thomas said slowly. “Perhaps Sybbie would like a picnic? It’s a rather nice day.”

Tom smiled, feeling slightly relieved Thomas hadn’t said no. Even though it was his job to say yes. Tom pushed the annoyance down as he spoke. 

“Sybbie loves picnics,” Tom said with a smile. “Perhaps you can ask Mrs. Pattmore for one and I’ll fetch Sybbie? Meet in the foyer in a few minutes?” 

“Right away, sir,” Thomas said, moving to step around Tom. Tom reached out to pause Thomas, a light hand on his wrists. 

“Mr. Barrow, when I’m the only member of the family at Downton, please call me Tom,” he said. “It feels rather odd when it wasn’t that long ago that we worked together.” 

He thought for a moment that perhaps he’d overstepped a line. Thomas was looking at Tom’s fingers on his wrists with magnetic curiosity. But Thomas looked up and met his eyes and nodded. 

“As you wish… Tom,” he said, before striding out of the library, leaving Tom to follow at a slower pace. 

Tom made his way up the stairs to the nursery. He shook his head to himself. He’d once brought Miss Bunting up here and Thomas had gotten him into trouble for it. Now he’d asked Thomas to join he and Sybbie on a picnic. How things had changed, simply by the course of time. 

Tom slowed his steps. Thomas’s attempt at killing himself had seemed to change quite a lot of things at Downton. Tom couldn’t really say he minded. Thomas seemed to be much less the sort of person who would tattle on Tom, not that Tom was bringing women up to the gallery anymore. 

He reached the nursery door before he had a moment to ponder why and knocked, opening the door to reveal Sybbie quietly playing while George napped. Sybbie smiled and dashed to her father. Tom knelt down to whisper to her. 

“How does a picnic with Thomas and I sound?” He asked. 

“Now?” She whispered back excitedly. 

Tom nodded and Sybbie mimicked him enthusiastically. Nanny passed along Sybbie’s coat and they were off to the foyer. 

By the time they’d reached the foyer, Thomas was already there. He smiled down at Sybbie as she ran up to him, tugging at his wrist and asking what was in the picnic basket. Tom didn’t miss the way Thomas winced when Sybbie pulled on his wrists. 

“Gentle, Sybbie,” Tom said calmly. “No need to treat Barrow like a tree.” 

She giggled and Thomas schooled his face. “Where do we want to walk for our picnic?” Thomas asked Sybbie.

“Can we go to the garage?” She asked excitedly. Tom and Thomas shared a look. 

“You want to picnic with the cars?” Tom asked incredulously. She nodded. 

Thomas smirked. ”She is her father’s daughter, Mr. Branson.” 

“Tom,” Tom corrected, and Thomas nodded, the hints at a real smile on his face, the beginnings of familiarity feeling hopeful to Tom. 

“Tom,” Thomas said quietly, as though testing the name for himself. The two men followed Sybbie out the front door and were immediately taken up in her request for stories. Tom listened to a story Thomas was telling of Sybil and a soldier during the time Downton was a convelansence house, chuckling at the antics of his wife. 

They’d been so young, so passionate. He never thought he could love anyone like he loved Sybil. 

But, he thought, he did want to love again. Somehow. 

Thomas unlocked the garage and opened the doors. Sybbie began digging through the picnic basket in Thomas’s hands and pulled out a blanket, flopping it onto the ground with little success. 

Tom chuckled and lent a hand, spreading the blanket while Thomas kneeled and unpacked the picnic. Mrs. Pattmore didn’t disappoint, even if the rest of the family was gone and Tom’s expectations were significantly lower. 

Sybbie ate a few bites of cold turkey before dashing off to run around in the grass, leaving Tom and Thomas alone. Tom absently chewed on a biscuit, letting himself sprawl out a bit. Thomas didn’t fully relax but he sighed, seemingly content. 

“Did Sybbie hurt you?” Tom asked. Thomas turned to look at him curiously. “Earlier, when she tugged at your wrists.” He gestured towards Tom’s wrists. 

Thomas fishmouthed for a moment then glared into his lap. “I’m quite alright, sir. Nothing to worry about.” 

“Tom,” Tom said stubbornly, “and I didn’t mean any offense. Just if your hand injury is bothering you, I’ve got a good ointment my mum used to give me for scars.” It was a weak cover, but a cover nonetheless.

Thomas looked confusedly at Tom. They both knew Tom hadn’t initially been talking about Thomas’s hand but, something flickered in Thomas’s eyes, an understanding of sorts. Tom had tried to save Thomas’s pride. 

“I wouldn’t say no to something like that, actually,” Thomas said. He flexed his wrists slowly, and Tom wondered if it was subconscious or not. 

“I’ll bring it down later,” Tom said. The two men fell into silence, watching Sybbie play. It wasn’t the first time Tom wondered when he’d started spending so much of his leisure time with the man who’d once hated him. 

It was the first time though, that Tom found he rather enjoyed it. That he wanted to spend more time with Thomas, because it seemed as if Thomas didn’t actually hate him any longer. And if that wasn’t a thought to ponder, he didn’t know what was. 

_____________

Tom didn’t know if Thomas actually used the ointment he’d shared on his hand or if he used it in the way Tom had intended… on the scars on his wrists. Either way, he got his answer a few weeks later. 

March had rung in almost colder than February, with a late snow and blustery winds and Tom went downstairs to ask Thomas for a bit of help with one of his old coats. He knocked on Thomas’s office door, catching a wince on Thomas’s face just as he did so. 

Thomas looked up, attempting to school his face into his usual servant neutral. “What can I do for you, Mr. Branson?” He asked and even his voice conveyed a certain discomfort. 

Tom walked in and shut the door behind him, gesturing to the chair for guests in front of Thomas’s desk. Thomas nodded and Tom took a seat. 

“Are you alright, Mr. Barrow?” Tom asked. Thomas was rubbing his injured hand and grimacing now that the door was closed. Tom reveled for a moment that Thomas felt comfortable enough with him to let his guard down.

“It’s alright, Mr. Bran… Tom,” Thomas replied, and Tom couldn’t help but feel a swelling excitement in his chest. The Crawley’s were home and here they were, in private, and Thomas was letting go of formality. Tom gave him an encouraging smile. 

Thomas continued, his hand flexing in obvious discomfort. “My hand just gets a bit tense when the weather gets colder.” 

“You can use the ointment I gave you on your hand as well,” Tom said. He tried to act nonchalant, hoping Thomas couldn’t see how easily and quickly Tom had come to care for him. It surprised him, too.

“It does help,” Thomas acquiesced. “It’s just the cold that seems to do it in.” 

Tom paused a moment, then carefully spoke, reaching out his hand. “May I?” 

Thomas looked at him searchingly for a moment before placing his injured hand in Tom’s, looking like he could be startled away at any moment. 

Tom carefully pulled the glove off Thomas’s hand, shushing him when Thomas let out a wince and a whimper. His hand was stiff, the scars an angry red, and it felt a little cold in Tom’s warmer hands. 

“Do you have the ointment?” Tom asked, letting his thumbs rest in Thomas’s palm, unwilling to release his hand.

Thomas nodded and shuffled around his desk drawer with his free hand. Between the two of them, they opened the jar and Tom scooped some out, gently beginning to massage Thomas’s hand. 

He let his thumbs do the work, gently easing the tension by starting in the fingers and working his way to Thomas’s palm, gently tracing the scars and pressing his thumbs all down to Thomas’s wrist. Thomas tried to pull away as Tom neared his wrists but Tom just worked his way back up Thomas’s palm. 

“We all have scars that tried to take our life,” Tom said into the quiet. “Some of them are just less obvious than others.” 

He felt Thomas staring at him, and looked up to meet his eyes. Tom smiled softly, looking back down at Thomas’s hand. It was warmer now and looser. Thomas wiggled his fingers and sighed. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly and Tom released his hand, a bit regretfully. 

“Anytime,” Tom said, and meant it. Thomas was looking at him with an unreadable expression and Tom couldn’t seem to take his eyes away from Thomas’s. Thomas swallowed and looked back down at his hands, fidgeting. 

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Thomas asked finally, standing and ringing for Mrs. Pattmore. 

“That would be great,” Tom said. “I wanted to talk to you about one of my coats actually.” 

The door opened behind him and Daisy stuck her head in. 

“Daisy, could we get some tea, if you please?” Thomas asked. Tom marveled at how the cocky, arrogant man he’d known for most of his time at Downton still hadn’t made another reappearance. Thomas was being kind and polite to Daisy and it made Tom smile. 

Daisy nodded and left, coming back only moments later with tea, teacups, milk, sugar, and a few biscuits. Thomas thanked her and she closed the door behind her. 

“Now, what’s this about your coat?” Thomas asked as he prepared their tea. 

“That’s just it,” Tom said, “I need a new one and wanted your advice on where to get one…” 

“Is this for the shop or for outings with the family?” 

“Both, if that’s possible,” Tom said. 

Thomas nodded and stood, walking around his desk to a small bookshelf. He pulled out a thick catalog and flipped through it, handing the open book to Tom. 

“Any of those should do nicely. Just pick your color and size and I can ask Mrs. Baxter to order it for you.” 

Tom looked at the options and felt a tad overwhelmed. “May I take this and think on it?” 

“Of course,” Thomas said. 

Tom smiled his thanks and sat in silence for a moment drinking his tea. He wondered if Thomas minded… he didn’t appear, smiling hesitantly at Tom and sipping his tea but… you could never be sure with Thomas. Best to be straightforward. 

“Do you mind that I’m here?” Tom asked, taking a sip of his tea to hid his curiosity and slight embarrassment. He felt a bit like a lovesick young girl… 

Thomas shook his head. “No, although I’m a bit surprised.” 

“Surprised?” 

“At myself,” Thomas said, staring resolutely into his teacup. “I find I rather like your company.” 

Tom tried to curb his smile… it was threatening to take over his whole face and that simply wouldn’t do. He couldn’t help it however and when Thomas looked up, he grinned seeing Tom’s face. 

“I like your company too,” Tom suddenly felt the urge to reach out and touch Thomas. He rested his hand on the edge of the desk instead. 

“Who’d have thought after all these years we’d finally get along?” Thomas said. “The chauffeur turned husband to a lady and…” He trailed off, looking pensive. 

“And?” Tom questioned. 

Thomas shrugged. “Me.” 

Tom did reach out this time, resting his fingers gently on the wrist that held Thomas’s tea cup. Thomas flinched but didn’t pull away. 

“I’m glad for it,” Tom said sincerely. “As much of a revolutionary I can be, I do prefer peace. And it’s easy to feel alone in these big houses.” 

“You had several siblings, didn’t you?” Thomas asked, still looking at where Tom’s fingers rested on his wrist. 

“I did. It was quite the change growing up in a rambunctious Irish family and coming here.” 

“We English don’t know how to be rambunctious,” Thomas said with a rueful grin. “Downstairs is always a bit more bustling than upstairs at least.” 

Tom grinned. “There’s a reason I enjoy coming down here when the family is out.”

“The maids enjoy seeing you,” Thomas said and Tom had to smirk. There was a bit of that feisty bastard. 

“Well, unfortunately for them, I’m not interested.” Tom had enjoyed talking with Edith’s editor at her wedding, but it had confirmed something for him: he not only liked women, but he liked men too. And after Sybil, he wanted to try being with a man, if he could figure out a way to manage it without getting himself hanged. 

Tom found he was more prone to keeping certain things in his life private. He wanted something that was wholly his. And while it was illegal to be with a man, he knew there were ways to hide such things. He’d known a few men in his time and known several who had partners. 

Thomas surveyed him with a curious gaze. There was a knock on the door and Mrs. Baxter came in. 

“Am I interrupting something?” She asked apologetically. 

Thomas and Tom exchanged a look. Tom shook his head once, letting Thomas stand and return to his work. Tom left his teacup by the sink and made his way upstairs. He just caught a glimpse of Thomas watching him, a small smile on his face. It made Tom want to see Thomas smile more. He wondered how to best go about it as he scaled the steps and went to spend the rest of the afternoon walking the grounds. If he asked Sybil for help on how to make Thomas smile… well, he knew she of all people would never judge him.

_________

Later that night, Tom slowly made his way down the stairs. It was late and he couldn’t sleep and the thought of a glass of milk or a snack propelled his feet down to the kitchen. 

“You just sat there talking?” Tom paused on the steps, willing them not to creak under his feet. Baxter’s excited whisper carried up to his ears. 

“Yes, is that so hard to believe?” Thomas’s voice responded and Tom gripped the railing. 

“You and Mr. Branson?” Baxter must have been smiling if the eagerness in her voice was anything to go by. 

“You don’t need to sound surprised. Nothing happened. He’s not interested in men, Baxter,” Thomas sighed. “Besides he’s practically my employer. That doesn’t bode well when it comes to romance.” 

Romance? What? Tom tried to calm his breathing but the butterflies in his stomach weren’t listening to his requests to stop fluttering. He and Thomas… romantic? He felt himself start to grin. It would certainly make Thomas smile it seemed. 

“I think he likes you,” Baxter said. 

“I think you’re off your rocker,” Thomas replied. 

“He cares about you at least and that’s something.” Baxter paused. “You care about him?” 

“It wouldn’t matter if I did.” 

‘You do,” Baxter said matter-of-factly. It sent a thrill up Tom’s spine. 

Thomas sighed. “It doesn’t matter, Phyllis. He’s not interested in men for one, and he’s practically a high born man now. He probably needs to marry and have more children or something.” 

“You of all people know that he doesn’t,” Baxter said. 

There were footsteps coming from the kitchen and Baxter and Thomas silenced their conversation. Tom took a breath and walked down the stairs, meeting Baxter, Thomas, and Daisy just near the servants dining hall.

“Mr. Branson,” Baxter said with a curtsy and a smile. Daisy mimicked her but Thomas looked down at his shoes before meeting Tom’s eyes. When he did, Tom wished they were alone… Thomas was looking at him with what he could only describe as poorly veiled longing.

“It’s rather late for you to be awake,” Baxter continued, smiling at Tom. He smiled back, feeling a bit emboldened by what he’d overheard.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Tom said with a nod of his head. “Needed a snack of sorts.” 

“There’s some leftovers from dinner in the fridge,” Daisy piped up. “Cold meat and some cheese.” 

“Thank you, that’s very kind,” Tom said. He shuffled by the three of them, his hand coming up to rest of Thomas’s wrist just for a moment as he walked past. He heard some enthusiastic gesturing behind him and turned. 

“Is the any bread perhaps?” Tom asked, sure Daisy would answer but looking at Thomas instead. 

Thomas met his eyes and took the hint. He walked towards Tom. “There is. I can show you, Mr. Branson.” 

“It’s my kitchen,” Daisy muttered but she and Baxter bid the two men goodnight, Baxter herding Daisy down the hall, as Thomas followed Tom into the kitchen. 

Tom walked over to the fridge, opening it and pulling out a bit of ham and some cheese. “Would you like anything, Mr. Barrow?” 

Thomas walked over and peered into the fridge, brushing Tom’s shoulder with his chest. “Pull out that small white ramekin there,” he said, pointing. “And call me Thomas, when it’s just you and I.” 

Tom looked over at Thomas, their faces closer than they’d ever been. Thomas smiled, knowing and bashful all at once, his cheeks tinged pink. He stepped back and leaned on the edge of Mrs. Pattmore’s table, cutting up a few slices of bread. 

Tom set the meat and cheese on the able, taking a peek at the ramekin. 

“What is this, Thomas?” He asked about the ramekin, liking how Thomas’s name felt on his tongue. It made him wonder how certain other things would feel on his tongue. He blushed. Where had _that_ thoughts even come from?

“A bit of leftover chocolate ganache from tomorrow’s dessert,” Thomas said with a smile. “I rather enjoy eating it with a spoon.” 

Tom laughed and went to shuffle through drawers to find spoons. He hopped up onto the counter next to where Thomas was slicing bread and offered one of the spoons to him. 

“Dessert first?” Thomas teased. 

“We’re adults now,” Tom said. “Hypothetically, we can do whatever we want.” 

Thomas laughed and took the offered spoon and ramekin, digging a chunk of chocolate out. Tom followed suit, letting his legs gently swing, his slipper-clad foot occasionally brushing Thomas’s thigh. It was a familiar gesture, and Tom thought that perhaps Thomas smiled a bit more every time Tom’s foot touched him. 

He tested his theory by letting his feet come to rest, his toes wiggling against Thomas’s knee. Thomas giggled and squirmed, dropping the knife. 

“Are you ticklish?” Tom asked, wiggling his toes into Thomas’s knee even more. 

Thomas covered his mouth, giggling uncontrollably. He slumped against the ledge of the counter and Tom’s arm found it’s way around Thomas’s waist to catch him. 

The paused, both a little breathless, both grinning broadly, Tom’s arm around Thomas’s waist and stomach. Somehow Thomas had placed his hand on the other side of Tom’s lap to stabilize himself. They were close, and Tom could feel Thomas’s warm breath on his skin, could sense the muscles in Thomas’s side under his fingertips. 

“This…” Thomas spoke quietly, slowly, “is a rather compromising position for two adult men to be in, Mr. Branson.” 

Tom tightened his grip on Thomas, pulling him infinitesimally closer and ignoring the use of his name. “No one’s here to see.” 

Thomas hummed regretfully, making to pull away. Tom instinctively tightened his grip on Thomas’s waist.

“Thomas, please,” Tom said, “stay.” 

“Stay where, Tom?” Thomas asked, closing his eyes and breathing in deep like he was preparing for a great leap. He opened his eyes and Tom caught his gaze, taking in Thomas’s uncertainty. 

Tom reached up his free hand and gently ran his fingers down Thomas’s jaw bone. Thomas shuddered, reaching up to rest his hand on Tom’s arm wrapping around his waist. They were so close they could probably have jumped off the counter and begun to dance.

“Stay here. Here in my arms,” Tom said. Thomas’s uncertainty faded to tenderness, still hesitant but there was an eagerness there too, a longing that Tom recognized immediately: a longing for companionship.

Thomas leaned into Tom’s arms, lifting up his gloved hand to trace Tom’s jawline. Tom shivered under his touch, wishing the glove gone and wishing to know all the ways Thomas would touch him, all the ways he could touch Thomas. He blushed again, but found this time, he couldn’t be bothered.

Thomas swallowed. “Is this…” He paused, and Tom cupped Thomas’s cheek, his fingers gentle. “Is this why you encouraged me to call you Tom? So I wouldn’t be in your arms calling you Mr. Branson?” 

Tom leaned forward, resting his forehead against Thomas’s and feeling clarity about his feelings for the first time in weeks. “I want to know you, Thomas. I would like you to know me. First names make bridging that gap just a little easier.”

Thomas let out a shaky breath. 

“If what you want is sex…” Thomas began, but Tom cut him off.

“That’s not what I want,” Tom said. “I mean… eventually, maybe, yes, I’d like that. With you. But right now, I just want to know you. Truly know you.” 

Thomas smirked sadly, but let his hand slide up Tom’s side, his fingers trailing over Tom’s waist. “The world isn’t kind to men who want to know other men.”

“The world doesn’t have to know,” Tom said, brushing their noses together. “Just us.” 

Thomas huffed out a smile, looking down at Tom’s eyes. “Just us.” 

It felt like a promise.

______________

The next morning, Tom walked down to breakfast with a hesitant skip in his step, the feeling of he and Thomas wrapped in each other’s arms still vivid in his mind. He opened the door to the breakfast room, and the first thing he saw was Thomas pouring a cup of tea for Henry. 

Thomas didn’t look at him right away, and Tom forced his feet to move towards getting his own breakfast. He was just gathering a bit of morning bacon when he felt Thomas’s presence next to him. 

“Would you like a cup of tea, Mr. Branson?” Thomas asked quietly. 

Tom looked up and caught the private smile meant only for him. He nodded. “Tea would be great. Thank you, Mr. Barrow.” 

He made his way to his seat, greeting Robert and Henry a good morning. Robert grunted, his nose thoroughly in the paper, and Henry gave him a smile and passed a portion of the paper to him. 

“There’s a car I think we should buy for the shop,” Henry said. “Something we can fix up and sell to get a bit of revenue.” 

Tom scanned the ad, reaching for his tea in such a way that Thomas’s elbow could brush his shoulder as he pulled away from pouring Tom’s cup. 

“We could do with a bit of revenue,” Tom said. “Shall we go see it today?” 

“Might as well,” Henry said. “Mary wanted to take George and Sybbie to see the pigs.”

“You should take someone from downstairs,” Robert pitched in. “Mr. Barrow, is there anyone to go? Cora said Baxter needs things, though I don’t know what.” 

“I can go, your Lordship,” Thomas said, almost causing Tom to upset his tea and stoutly ignoring Tom’s searching eyes. “I have a few things I need myself and for Mrs. Pattmore.”

“We’ll be a happy party indeed,” Henry said. “Let’s leave around eleven.”

“Yes, sir,” Thomas said, finally letting his eyes meet Tom’s. There was a small smile on his face that lasted just a moment before he turned and continued working. Tom looked down at his breakfast, taking a sip of tea to hide his smile. 

Robert and Henry both left the breakfast room before Tom. He lingered, watching Thomas send Andy downstairs with trays of breakfast’s leftovers. Tom stood, folding his napkin next to his plate. 

“Thomas,” he said softly, and he watched in amazement as the stiff and erect posture of Mr. Barrow, the Butler, faded and softened into Thomas, Tom’s friend and maybe more, who turned slowly, making eye contact with Tom. 

“Morning, Tom,” Thomas said with a smile, tender and hesitant all at once. 

Tom walked over to him, taking his time and fighting the urge within in him run into Thomas’s arms. When Tom reached him, he chuckled. 

“I want to hold you again,” Tom said, his voice low and quiet in the room. 

“I wouldn’t complain,” Thomas said. He sounded relieved, his grin becoming more and more sure. Tom reached out, letting his fingers trail down Thomas’s wrist just for a moment. 

“It’s going to take all my self-control to not touch you today,” Tom said, keeping an ear out for coming footsteps while lacing his fingers through Thomas’s. 

Thomas smirked. “Maybe that was the plan, Mr. Branson.” He was teasing and Tom felt his stomach flip-flop with butterflies.

Thomas winked and squeezed Tom’s hand. Tom gaped at him, thoroughly pleased and increasingly attracted to the man standing in front of him. 

Tom regained his composure and smirked back. “I guess I’ll have to figure out a way to break your control first.”

Neither of them lost their sense of decorum or self-control, at least not in ways Henry could see. But Tom couldn’t help but let his fingers trail across Thomas’s back when they’d entered a store together. He’d shivered when Thomas had smirked at him from across the street, feeling the look to his toes. On their drive back Tom had slung his arms around Henry and Thomas, squeezing Thomas’s shoulder and running his fingers along his arm. Thomas had shivered and run the toe of his shoe up Tom’s leg. 

By the time they’d returned, Tom and Henry were expected to dress for dinner and Thomas went downstairs to ensure its preparation. Thomas sent Tom another lingering smile, this one a bit less cheeky than the one in town. Tom had smiled back, fleetingly before dashing up to his bedroom.

Tom entered his room, shutting the door firmly behind him, running his hands through his hair. He took in a deep breath, holding the image of Thomas behind his eyes. He’ wanted to pull Thomas into his arms and hold him for years.

When had he come to care for Thomas? He couldn’t pinpoint it if he tried. It was as if, all of sudden, Tom looked at Thomas and instead of seeing the Butler, he saw first a friend, then the potential for more. Maybe it didn’t matter when it had happened, just that it did. Did Thomas feel the same way? He certainly seemed receptive.

Tom paced at the foot of his bed. He had to be careful. He didn’t want to endanger Thomas’s job, especially considering the traumatic year he’d had. But he wanted that sliver of happiness, that companionship. And Sybbie adored Thomas. 

They could be careful. Cautious. Thomas likely wouldn’t stay at Downton forever and Tom didn’t have to either… he and Sybbie could move to a farm… perhaps with a small cottage that Thomas could “live” in. Would that be fair to him? Tom sighed heavily. Was he thinking too far ahead? He hadn’t even kissed the man yet!

And how would he tell Robert? How would Robert even respond? He knew about Thomas’s preferences but Tom imagined it’d be a bit different with his own son-in-law. Mary’s reaction was akin to a loose cannon in Tom’s eyes. 

He frowned as he put on his dinner coat, his eye catching the catalog Thomas had given him. He’d have to ask Thomas’s opinion again. Tom was clueless when it came to coats. He grinned to himself. If anything, it gave him an excuse to talk with Thomas. 

Tom would have to keep those excuses to a minimum, nothing more than necessary. But perhaps they could make something work. 

Tom shook himself. _I have to talk to Thomas first_, he thought to himself. _Thomas first_.

After dinner, Tom made his way downstairs again, a little later than the previous night, hoping that the downstairs would be mostly cleared out. He wanted to be alone with Thomas. He found himself in luck when he knocked on Thomas’s office door. The downstairs was empty save for the light coming from underneath Thomas’s door.

“Come in,” Thomas’s voice said and Tom strode in with a tentative smile, closing the door behind him. Thomas was sitting at his desk, glasses perched on the end of his nose, reading through some paper or other. He smiled when Tom entered, an unadorned, genuine smile. Tom felt an insatiable desire to be close to Thomas.

“Thomas,” Tom said breathlessly, and Thomas stood, watching as Tom came around the desk. Tom pulled Thomas to him, resting their foreheads together, clutching at each other's arms, their noses gently grazing one another. 

“I hope I didn’t distract you too much today, Mr. Branson,” Thomas teased gently, smiling in such a way that lit up his whole face. 

Tom smiled up at Thomas. He brought up one of his hands and trailed his fingers down Thomas’s cheek. “Tom,” Tom reminded asbently. “I’m just glad to be holding you now. Dinner was murder, watching you work.”

Thomas gripped Tom’s waist, swallowing, looking resolved and determined. “What… exactly, do you want from me?” Thomas asked. 

Tom pulled back enough to look Thomas in the eye. “Exactly what I said. I want to know you. I want you to know me. I won’t take advantage of you, if that’s what you’re wondering.” 

“It is,” Thomas said with a stiff nod. “I’ve found upper class gentlemen are used to getting what they want.” 

Tom smirked. “Good thing I’m not an upper class gentlemen,” Tom softened. “I would never dream of taking advantage of you. I know what we’re up against, but I want to try with you.”

“Those are fighting words, Tom,” Thomas whispered, tilting his head down to Tom’s. 

“I’m a fighting man,” Tom said, inching closer to Thomas, their noses brushing again. He could feel Thomas’s breath on his lips, a bit of scruff on Thomas’s chin in his hand.

“Thank god for that,” Thomas breathed. Tom hummed, and their lips brushed, just once. 

“What do you want, Thomas?” Tom asked. He wanted to kiss Thomas more than anything, had spent the night dreaming of what Thomas would feel like. But more importantly, Tom wanted to be sure Thomas wanted him just as much. 

Thomas swallowed again, looking up into Tom’s eyes. “I don’t want to be made a fool,” he said, pausing, as if trying to fight the words out. “I want something real.” 

Tom nodded. “And me?” 

Thomas smiled softly. “I want to know you, Tom. Know me,” he said, echoing Tom’s words. “I don’t know what it’s like to be known.”

“Let me show you,” Tom whispered. They were whispering into each other’s lips, so close Tom could feel Thomas’s heartbeat in his own chest. Tom’s grip on Thomas tightened, the two of them flush up against each other. 

“You might not like what you find out,” Thomas said. 

Tom shrugged. “That doesn’t matter. I’ll stay.”

Thomas closed his eyes, his warm breath gentle against Tom’s lips. Tom could feel Thomas’s heart beating quickly, erratically. He ran his hand gently along Thomas’s back, trying to comfort him as he thought. 

“Well then,” Thomas said, moving his lips infinitesimally closer. “Kiss me, Tom.” 

Tom smiled just a moment before pressing his lips to Thomas’s. He was soft, at first, gentle and delicate, his hand cupping Thomas’s cheek as their lips moved. Thomas’s hands dug into Tom’s hips, and Thomas slid his tongue between his lips, flicking across Tom’s lips. 

Tom welcomed Thomas’s tongue in, sucking and nibbling as Thomas explored his mouth, taking his time and sending tingles of pleasure up and down Tom’s spine. Thomas’s arms wrapped around Tom, pulling him closer and Tom threaded his fingers through Thomas’s hair. 

They broke apart, both breathing a bit heavier, both still clutching at each other, trying to somehow be closer still. Tom hummed, licking his lips, and smiled as Thomas came back in for another kiss. This time, Tom slide his tongue into Thomas’s mouth, exploring as he could and letting out a barely contained moan when Thomas sucked on his tongue. Thomas sucked again, and Tom whimpered, leaning heavily into Thomas. Thomas pulled back, chuckling, looking down at Tom with a fond smile. 

“I have to remember how to be quieter, I suppose,” Tom said, breathless. He wondered if he’d be able to stand on his own if Thomas let go of him. 

Thomas hummed. “I wish you didn’t have to. That was the loveliest thing I’ve ever heard.”

They grinned at each other. 

“Maybe when we can be truly alone together, you can coax more noises like that out of me,” Tom said, feeling brave and a bit kiss-drunk. 

Thomas smirked, leaning in to kiss Tom, this time long and slow, tantalizing and tender and breathtaking all at the same time. Tom felt butterflies in his stomach dance up around his heart, and he whimpered. Had he made this much noise with Sybil? He couldn’t remember. He didn’t mind it though. Thomas was bringing out a side of him he hadn’t seen in years.

Thomas grinned into the kiss, and pulled back just enough to separate their lips, letting their foreheads rest together. Tom breathed in deeply. 

“I hope that day is soon,” Thomas said. 

“I’m sure it’ll happen,” Tom said. “The family is leaving for a few days at the end of the month and I’m not going with them.” 

“I can give the staff an evening off,”Thomas said. “They deserve it anyways.”

“We have a plan then,” Tom said. He knew eventually he’d have to leave Thomas, go to his own bed, let Thomas sleep for a long day tomorrow. But just then, all Tom could know, all he wanted to know, was the feel of his hands in Thomas’s hair and Thomas’s arms around him.

The end of the month came sooner than either of them expected. Tom and Thomas had spent several evenings a week in Thomas’s office, and Tom had become a pro at finding reasons to urgently need the Butler when he was at home or alone in the house. No one, except for Baxter it seemed, knew about them and they were both content to keep it that way. 

It was a stormy night at the end of March, the evening before the family was set to leave town. Tom made his way down the back stairs as he now had a habit of doing, and knocked on Thomas’s office door before strolling in. 

Thomas was there to greet him, hardly giving Tom the chance to shut the door before he had his arms full of the man who was quickly becoming his favorite person in the world aside from his daughter. 

Thomas kissed Tom on the temple, wrapping his arms around Tom’s shoulders and pulling him close. Tom breathed him in, smelling of wine cellar and silver polish and candle wax. Thomas traced his nose through Tom’s hair. 

They stood there for a few moments, not speaking, just resting in one another’s arms. Tom felt the earlier tension he’d seen in Thomas’s shoulders recede, felt his heartbeat steady under his hands. Thomas’s job wasn’t easy and he took it seriously. Tom ran his hands over Thomas’s back, his forehead resting on Thomas’s shoulder. He felt Thomas breathing into his hair, felt gentle kisses along the back of his skull.

“Would you like some tea?” Tom asked, knowing a tray would already be there for them. Thomas hummed in response and Tom shifted back a bit, looking into Thomas’s face. He looked tired. 

Tom cupped Thomas’s cheek. “You alright, love?” The endearment had slipped out only a week ago, but Tom hadn’t been able to take it back. When they were in private, he couldn’t hold back, his growing affection for Thomas uncontainable. 

Thomas smiled and leaned into Tom’s hand. “I’m alright, just tired. I’m looking forward to a day off tomorrow.” 

“Will you be able to sleep in?” Tom asked. Thomas just shook his head. 

“Years of waking up before dawn is a hard habit to break,” Thomas said, sliding his arms down Tom’s waist to take his hand. “But my responsibilities will be fewer and that’s rest enough.”

Tom wondered what it would be like to have Thomas all to himself, no distractions, no work. Somewhere in the light of day, where he could relish Thomas’s company without worry or deadline. Thomas led him over to the tea tray, and began pouring with one hand. Tom reached out and stopped him. 

“Let me,” he said. “You do this all day long. Rest.” He gave Thomas’s hand a squeeze and gestured towards Thomas’s desk chair. Thomas grinned and squeezed Tom’s hand back, before letting go and taking his seat. Tom poured two cups of tea, added milk and sugar to Thomas’s, and carefully carried them to the desk. He handed Thomas a cup and saucer and leaned against the desk, rather than sitting in the chair opposite Thomas, if only to be closer to him for the moment. 

“Not bad,” Thomas teased, taking a sip of his tea. “Be careful or I’ll bring you back down here to work.”

Tom laughed. “I was only ever good as a chauffeur.”

“You’re good at numbers and planning now,” Thomas said. “You couldn’t have done then what you do now.” 

“I was lucky,” Tom said, “and I married up.” He grinned boyishly, but could sense something else in Thomas’s comment. He waited. Thomas would speak his mind in time. 

“You and Sybil,” Thomas started, “you loved each other?” He seemed uncertain, which seemed off since Tom knew Thomas already knew the answer the that particular question. But they hadn’t discussed the nature of Tom and Sybil’s relationship before and Tom thought perhaps he owed Thomas a bit of his history. 

“Very much,” Tom said. “She’s the most incredible woman I’ve ever known. Ever will know, probably. I was lucky to love her.” He paused. “I was lucky to be loved by her.” 

“I should think anyone who had her affections would be lucky,” Thomas said slowly. 

Tom looked at Thomas over his teacup. “She cared for you, you know. She hardly stopped talking about you when we moved to Ireland. She wanted to know you were alright. Apparently she wrote to Edith asking after you.” 

Thomas smiled. “I cared for her too. I wish I’d known her better. She’s one of the closest people I’ve had to a friend.” 

Tom hummed. “She counted you a friend, as much as she could. I think she’d be glad you and I are how we are.” 

Thomas met Tom’s eyes, his look uncertain. “You think so?” 

Tom nodded. “She was never one to judge people or stand on much ceremony. You know that. I’ve never doubted that she wanted me to find happiness after she died. She always wanted you to find happiness. I think she’d be positively gleeful that we’ve found it in each other.” 

He hadn’t actually said how happy Thomas made him, and as he finished, he realized he was only supposing that he made Thomas happy. He wanted to make him happy, more than he could really comprehend. Thomas made him happier than he’d been in years. 

Tom cleared his throat. “At least, you make me happy. I know she’d be glad about that.” He stared down at his tea, wondering if he’d overstepped a boundary. Thomas gently placed his hand on Tom’s knee. 

“I never knew true happiness until that night in the kitchen,” Thomas said quietly, giving Tom’s knee a squeeze. “The night you told me you wanted to know me. I didn’t know I could be this happy.” 

Tom looked up, meeting Thomas’s soft smile and gentle gaze with his own in return. It filled him with unrelenting felicity, and he set his tea cup on the desk, taking Thomas’s from his hands and placing it beside his own tea cup, before leaning in and kissing Thomas’s soundly on the lips. 

“You deserve to be happy, Thomas,” Tom said, pulling away for just a moment, then diving back in, Thomas’s hands twisting into Tom’s hair and pulling him closer. He braced himself on the arms of the chair, giggling as Thomas used his foot to nudge at Tom’s knee. Tom stepped forward, gingerly straddling Thomas’s lap, not breaking the kiss until he was fully resting on Thomas’s lap. 

“This is new,” Tom said and Thomas just grinned, wrapping one arm around Tom’s waist, the other still tangled in his hair. Tom ran his hands up Thomas’s arms, played with the soft hair at the nape of Thomas’s neck, searching his eyes for any sign of hesitation. There was none. 

Thomas pulled him back, and they kissed again, both smiling uncontainably, chuckling and sighing into each other. Tom felt lazy, peaceful, relishing the feel of Thomas against him, of being in Thomas’s lap, of being so so close to this man who Tom couldn’t seem to get enough of.

Thomas whimpered when Tom got ahold of his tongue, and their kisses turned from playful to serious, light and easy to all encompassing. They couldn’t stay like this forever, but Tom kissed Thomas with everything he had, everything he could give. As if he could give his very heart to Thomas through each kiss, he wanted to leave no room for doubt or hesitation. 

Perhaps it was early for something so clandestine. Perhaps it was foolhardy for something so forbidden. 

But Tom felt himself begin to belong to Thomas, felt himself giving parts of his heart over to this man he knew he could trust. Thomas’s hands around his waist seemed like was receiving Tom’s trust with all he had. 

The clock striking one in the morning startled them out of their kisses, and Tom grinned, breathing heavily. Thomas’s hair was sticking out every which way, his face was flush and pink, and he was breathing hard. Tom thrilled… he had done that. Thomas smirked. 

“You should sit here more often,” Thomas said, his hands running along Tom’s waist and the two of them chuckled, Tom letting out a gush of air and resting his forehead on Thomas’s. 

“Gladly,” Tom said, feeling giddy and elated, wishing he didn’t have to leave. 

But it was very late and Thomas would undoubtedly be awake before the sun. 

“I should let you sleep,” Tom said, brushing a stray hair out of Thomas’s eyes. “What kind of man would I be if I didn’t let you sleep?”

Thomas smirked and before he could say anything, Tom just laughed and poked him in the side. 

“Alright,” Thomas giggled as Tom continued tickling him, “alright. We should both go to bed.” 

“We’ll do that together, soon, perhaps?” Tom asked breathlessly.

Thomas’s grip on Tom’s waist tightened. “I can’t wait.” 

Tom leaned in for one more kiss, lingering just a moment before hoisting himself out of Thomas’s lap and pulling Thomas to his feet. 

“See you tomorrow Thomas,” Tom said, giving Thomas’s hand a squeeze. 

“See you tomorrow, love,” Thomas replied. It was the first time Thomas had used the endearment and Tom grinned, kissed Thomas’s hands, before pulling them out the office door and up the stairs. They didn’t share a bed that night, but Tom felt perhaps they shared something more, and that made all the difference. 

The next morning dawned bright and sunny, a crisp day that had every member of the house pulled outside. After breakfast, Tom made his way downstairs, under the guise of wanting to give a letter to Mrs. Hughes to put in the post. He encountered Baxter on the stairs. 

“Morning, Mr. Branson,” she said with a knowing smile. “Can I help you?” 

Tom blinked, wondering for a moment if he should go along with his ruse. He knew Thomas and Baxter were close, and that Thomas trusted her. 

“I’m… actually looking for Thomas,” Tom said quietly. Baxter nodded. 

“He’s in his office,” she said. “I think he’s in a meeting with two of the maids, but he should be done soon.”

“Thank you Baxter,” Tom said, nodding gratefully. 

“Thank you, Mr. Branson,” Baxter said. She lowered her voice. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you’ve made Thomas a happier man and much easier to work with.” 

Tom couldn’t help but grin and he glanced down at his shoes. “I don’t mind you saying so at all, Baxter.” 

They nodded a farewell and Baxter continued up the stairs. Tom paused for a moment, his chest feeling like it could burst, when he heard Thomas’s office door open and shut and the tell-tale whispering of two maids walking down the hall. Tom saw that as his chance. 

He bounded down the stairs, staying as quiet as possible, and knocked on Thomas's door. A tired “Come in,” beckoned him through. Thomas was sitting at his desk, his head in his hands. Tom closed the door behind him and strode over to kneel next to Thomas’s chair. 

“Thomas,” Tom said softly, brushing a strand of hair off Thomas’s forehead, “how are you?” 

Thomas sighed and straightened, shaking his head to himself before attempting a weak grin in Tom’s direction. “I’ve been better,” he said, and Tom kissed Thomas’s temple as he stood to perch on the edge of the desk, all his attention on Thomas. 

“Tell me,” Tom said, gently nudging Thomas’s knee with his own.

Thomas rubbed his eyes. “I caught two maids… well, they were behaving like we do. They were… engaged... in the back hallway by the guest rooms.” 

Tom’s eyes widened. “Really?” Thomas nodded.

“I gave them a warning, let them know that sort of behavior isn’t tolerated while they’re working. That they have one more chance before I have to let them go.” Thomas sighed heavily. 

“Did you tell them about you?” Tom asked. 

Thomas glanced up at him and nodded. “Only to say that while I don’t believe I am lesser, there are rules of society that must be followed if we are to have a livelihood.”

“Did they take it alright?” Tom grasped Thomas’s hand, rubbing his thumb over the callouses on Thomas’s palm. Thomas nodded.

“I wish I didn’t have to chastise them though,” he said. “I wish we could love whoever we wanted.” 

Tom kissed Thomas’s hand. “A life in the shadows is hard. But sometimes it’s the only way we can create change.” 

“Odd words from a revolutionary,” Thomas said with a sad smirk. 

Tom huffed. “Sometimes the most revolutionary thing you can do is live a life you’re proud of, regardless of what society’s rules are. Sybil taught me that.” 

“What would make you proud of the life you live?” Thomas asked, leaning forward so his arm brushed Tom’s thigh. “What do you want?”

Tom thought for a moment. “A place of my own, for Sybbie and I. A successful business with Henry that can help all kinds of people. Sybbie to grow into a strong woman, like her mother. You, as much as you’ll let me have you.” 

Thomas looked up at Tom, silent for a moment. Tom looked back, unable to look away, wondering, once again, if he was moving faster than Thomas would want. But then again, what rubrick did they have to follow? Who said what Tom wanted was too fast or too slow? 

Thomas spoke slowly. “I always wanted to be a Butler. It’s been my goal for years. But now I have that and I wonder what could come next for someone like me. I’d like it to include you, Tom. As much as you’ll let me.” 

He echoed Tom’s sentiment. Tom grinned, opening his mouth to reply when a sharp knock on the door had him standing and turning to face the wall, pretending like he was in the middle of making tea. Thomas sat up, shuffling some papers on his desk.

The door opened and Baxter walked in, shutting it behind her. Tom couldn’t help but let out a small sigh of relief. 

“I just wanted to let you know…” she said, looking curiously between the two men, “Mr. Mosley and I are going into town. The maids have all left, Mrs. Hughes is spending the day with Mr. Carson, and the chauffeur is taking the train south for the day. The family all left half an hour ago for the north. You’ll seem to have the house to yourselves.” She spoke quickly, efficiently, and nodded once as she finished. “Enjoy your day, Mr. Branson, Barrow. 

She shut the door behind her once again and Thomas chuckled. Tom glanced at him, and Thomas was grinning, biting his lip, shaking his head fondly.

“That’s her way of telling me to get a move on and romance you,” Thomas said, standing with a sigh. 

“Does she think I’m not already romanced enough?” Tom said incredulously. Baxter could see through everyone, and Tom knew he was no exception. 

Thomas came to stand close to Tom, entangling their fingers together. “Do you have a limit?” 

Tom pretended to think on it. “We might want to test it and see,” he said cheekily. Thomas smiled and kissed his temple, before pulling Tom behind him and out the door. 

“I do love a challenge,” Thomas said, picking up a nondescript basket by the door and leading Tom out the back entrance of Downton. 

“What’re you planning?” Tom said good naturedly, keeping pace with Thomas and enjoying being outside the Abbey with their hands linked. 

Thomas just grinned and tugged Tom along, leading them into the woods. They hiked along for a little ways, deep enough into the forest that they wouldn’t be seen by any casual passerby. Thomas finally made an affirmative noise and stopped, squeezing Tom’s hand before letting go and setting the basket on the mossy green earth. Tom watched as Thomas pulled out a blanket, tossing it to Tom with a jerk of his chin. Tom spread it out on the forest floor and sat down, ignoring propriety and taking off his shoes. 

Thomas continued in silence, pulling a complete picnic lunch out of the basket: sausage, cheese, fresh scones from breakfast, strawberry jam, a jar of what looked like pie, and one small bottle of fresh juice, leftover from Baxter fresh squeezing Cora’s morning drink. 

Tom looked incredulously at Thomas, who removed his shoes, sat back, and glanced over at Tom, looking thoroughly satisfied with himself. 

“Have we reached the limit yet?” Thomas asked, smirking in his usual way. 

Tom laughed out loud. He would have thrown a scone at Thomas if the picnic wasn’t so lovely and instead leaned in as close as he could and kissed Thomas square on the mouth. 

It was different kissing Thomas in the open air. There was a thrill that they could be caught, followed quickly by the logic that they were hidden in the woods, safe from pestering eyes yet still… outside the Abbey. Tom and Thomas were kissing in the outside world, and Tom felt a tingle of excitement up his spine. 

Thomas sighed and Tom pulled back, smiling at the look on Thomas’s face. It seemed he wasn’t the only one a bit amazed at their current state. 

“Nice, isn’t it?” Tom said, “not having to hide?” 

“Technically we’re still hiding,” Thomas said, receiving a pointed jab in the side from Tom. He chuckled. “But yes, it is nice.” 

Tom pulled back with a grin and tucked into the picnic, making up plates for the both of them, feeling Thomas’s eyes watching his every move. The day was bright and the sky was clear but Tom hardly noticed. Knowing Thomas was watching him, caring about him, wanting him, was enough to make Tom feel like he was glowing brighter than the sun. 

He passed off a plate to Thomas, who took it and ate slowly, relishing an unhurried meal with no real time constraints. They lounged after they eat, lazily chatting and kissing, wiling away the afternoon as the sun lazily climbed through the sky. 

It was a couple hours later when Tom found himself dozing to the soft sound of Thomas humming to himself, his fingers threading through Tom’s hair. Tom’s cheek was resting against Thomas’s chest, warm and solid beneath him. Thomas’s fingers traced circles on the back of Tom’s hand. 

Tom sighed, squeezing Thomas about the middle and kissing him on the chest. Thomas’s humming stopped but when Tom looked up, Thomas was grinning with uncontained joy. 

It was practically required for Tom to kiss him. They kissed long and slow, hands running over chests and arms and necks, entwining in hair, and gripping hips. Thomas whimpered and Tom moaned and they broke apart. 

“I do believe,” Thomas whispered into the hazy afternoon, “that we… mentioned going to bed together.” His cheeks were pink, but Tom doubted it was from embarrassment. 

Tom grinned, kissed Thomas soundly on the lips, and pulled back, standing up and dragging Thomas to his feet. Thomas laughed. 

“I guess that’s a yes?” Thomas asked and Tom kissed him again. 

“You can tell Baxter you thoroughly romanced me,” Tom said with a smirk. He kissed Thomas’s knuckles and then knelt to gather the picnic back into the basket. “Just maybe don’t share too many details.” 

Thomas watched as Tom haphazardly packed the picnic, and Tom felt the heat in his eyes trailing up and down his body. His heart picked up speed again, his cheeks turned red, and when he looked up to meet Thomas’s eyes, it took all his self-control to not lay the blanket back on the grass and be with Thomas completely, right there in the open. 

Instead he held out his hand. “Thomas,” he said, and his voice came out soft, tender, heavy with desire and urgent all at the same time. Thomas stepped forward and took his hand. 

“Let me take you to bed,” Tom said. “Please.” 

Thomas smiled, leaning down to kiss Tom’s palm. “Lead the way, love.” 

When Thomas woke up, it took him a moment to realize he wasn’t in his own bed. The bed he was in - _Tom’s _bed - was much softer than his, and he let himself sink into the mattress, glancing over at Tom’s sleeping form. Their legs were tangled together, both of them naked and relaxed. Thomas wrapped an arm around Tom’s stomach, burrowing closer, even as the sun peeked over the hills through Tom’s window. 

Thomas gazed at Tom, smiling when Tom made a quiet sleepy noise before rolling over and snuggling back into Thomas’s bare chest. They had spent the afternoon in bed, and what a glorious afternoon it had been. Thomas hadn’t known he could be so enamoured by someone he also wanted so badly in bed. He hadn’t known what it was like to make love instead of just fuck.

But Tom had slowed his pace, leading Thomas into strange waters of care and tenderness and equal pleasure that he had had very little of in his life. Tom made Thomas want to dream of a life where he, perhaps, was allowed good things. 

Tom had told him he was allowed to be happy. Thomas was inclined to believe him. 

The house woke slowly, what with the family out and the servants off seeing family. The clock struck eight in the morning, and Thomas could hear the birds outside the window. Tom rolled over and Thomas couldn’t help but kiss him awake, getting lost in his love for a little while longer. A breakfast tray mysteriously arrived at Tom’s bedroom door, left with a soft knock and a note from Baxter. 

_Don’t miss this chance, Thomas. He’s the best thing to ever happen to you._

Thomas knew she was right of course, she always was. He closed the door and looked back at Tom. 

Tom was wrapping a robe around himself and poking at the coals in the fireplace, muttering under his breath about forgetting how to start a fire. Thomas carried the tray to the table, setting it down before kneeling next to Tom. 

“Here,” he said, “let me.” 

Tom sighed. “I do know how to start a fire,” he said.

Thomas grinned. “I’m sure you do.” Tom poked at him, then noticed the tray. 

“Did someone bring us breakfast?” He asked incredulously. 

Thomas nodded, successfully getting a spark to light. “Guess who.” 

“Baxter,” Tom said knowingly. “She is a good friend.” 

Thomas stood, Tom following suite, and Thomas had to catch his breath. This was real. He had spent almost half a day in Tom’s bed. They’d spent an entire day together and never tired of one another. He wrapped his arms around Tom’s shoulders, smiling at Tom slid his hands to Thomas’s waist. 

“This could work,” Thomas said, his heart doing a little flip. 

Tom kissed Thomas’s shoulder, pulling them close. “Yes. Yes it could.” 

“I want it to,” Thomas said, and in that moment he imagined a life ahead of him where he and Tom spent their days together. They worked hard, but maybe they shared a cottage, woke up together, and they came home to each other every night. Sybbie loved them both, and grew up into a woman like her mother just as Tom wanted, and she would visit them on holidays as they grew old together. Together. 

Tom kissed Thomas gently. “I want a future with you Thomas. I…”, and he shrugged bashfully. “I don’t care if it’s early or bold or anything. I love you. I never want to be apart from you again.” 

Thomas felt his heart burst in his chest, filling him with warmth and light and peace. He had been told a lot of things by a lot of lovers, but Tom’s declaration was true, felt true. And Thomas has his own truth too.

He nosed at Tom’s cheek. “I love you as well,” he said slowly, savoring the words on his tongue. “I didn’t know I could, but I do.” 

Tom grinned and Thomas smiled and breakfast was forgotten in lieu of forging this new bond in their skin. 

Downstairs, Baxter smiled to herself as Mr. Moseley picked her up for church. Thomas had finally found happiness after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr [here](https://iamasphodelknox.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to chat!


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